


Fiat Lux

by titC



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: But he's working on it, F/M, Gen, Growing Pains, Lucifer is delusional about his hair among other things, Lucifer knows people, Lucifer's not self-aware, The devil does not butt-dance, death-free, do people actually read all the tags, goats why goats, if I put latin in the title it will look smart right, not sugar-free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:54:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7753027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer tries his best to impress Chloe, and it's bloody hard work. Actually bloody.<br/>I suck at summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fiat Lux

**Author's Note:**

> Writing from Lucifer's viewpoint is hard.
> 
> Potential trigger warnings at the end.

Sometimes – well, often – the Detective baffled him. Such as now. She’d been berating him for not taking _the job_ seriously, and now she was trying to send him away from the precinct.

“It’s just paperwork now, you’ll just distract me and it’ll take twice the time. Shoo, go away!”

“But can’t I do paperwork?”

“Lucifer, you’ll just find it boring and – I don’t know, make paper planes with the forms or something. I’d like to go home as soon as possible.”

Well, maybe she had a point – paperwork was not fun, usually. Still, he was feeling contrary. Why shouldn’t he try it at least once? “But… it’s new! And I _can_ do paperwork, I do it for Lux! I’m sure it’s just the same.” He tried his best puppy eyes, the ones no one ever resisted – well, no one but her.

She only glared. “You sit here, you do as I say, you ask questions if you don’t know what to write, and god help you – _don’t_ say it, Lucifer – if we’re still here after six I’m not calling you for any case for two weeks.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Detective. Deal.” He could be nice, right?

Those forms were so boring it was almost an art form – or at least skilled work. Someone had put a lot of thought in making them as dull, horrible, mind-numbing, soul-crushing as possible. Could probably inspire new tortures in hell. If he were still there. Which he wasn’t.

 

Still, he thought driving back to his club, he’d surprised her. He’d been quiet and competent even though it pained him, and that was a start. How did humans do, really? Was it always such hard work to get someone to have sex with you? Maybe he could ask Doctor Linda. How did you impress someone who refused to be impressed?

Walking in, he threw the letter he’d found on the passenger seat in the fancy ashtray by the entrance, then side-eyed Maze, who was apparently drinking more than bartending (but what was new?) as he walked to the piano; just to remind her that he’d not entirely put behind him all her schemes ‘for his own good’, as she claimed. Keep her on her toes and all that.

He thought for a minute, watching the keys and stretching his fingers a bit while the music died down and the lights changed. Mmmh, maybe – yes, perfect. He launched into _Nobody Does It Better_ , a smirk playing around his lips.

 

The new case the good Detective had called him about promised to be rather boring: rich family, greedy estranged son, bam – murder. Not much mystery, and yet she’d still asked for him to come. Something’s off, she’d said, I need another pair of eyes; and so here he was. Maze had rolled her eyes when he’d left her with the books at Lux after his quick chat on the phone, and he didn’t understand why. He hadn’t run to his car, it was just… a brisk walk. To a potential distraction.

Hopefully there _was_ something fishy about that case that would make it worth his time. He wondered what the Detective would be wearing while he drove there, sucking absent-mindedly at a papercut on his finger.

 

The forensic team was wrapping up when he entered the huge mansion. “Darling, I’m hooome!” he singsonged.

She didn’t look amused when he found her, sadly. “Look at this,” she said handing him a piece of paper already in an evidence bag.

“Hm. A will?”

“Yeah. It says half of everything to each son, there’s no other heir. Forensics have found dark curly hair, like Sam’s, in Mr Caballero’s fingers.”

“Sam?”

“The estranged son.”

“And the other one?”

“Miguel. He was his father’s second in command in the family business.”

Skimming the file she’d handed him, Lucifer was starting to take an interest in the case. The family had made it big in a chain of restaurants, but the police had always suspected something shadier without ever managing to pin something on them. “What is making your spidey-senses tingle, dear?”

“Well, it’s… I don’t know, but apparently Sam Caballero didn’t want anything to do with his father, refused his financial help when he was a student and only survived on his part of the mother’s inheritance and small jobs here and there. Why change now?”

“Need for cash? Or maybe it wasn’t about the money?”

“The thing is, everybody in the staff has plenty of good things to say about Miguel but so far no one wants to say a thing about Sam.”

“Have you met any of the sons yet?”

“Miguel Caballero is on his way back from San Francisco, and I was waiting for you to go talk to Sam. He’s in there. He’s the one who found the vic.” She gestured at two big wooden doors. When he started moving he felt her small hand on his arm. “Lucifer,” she said, “please, can you just… not do your thing? Not this time, at least?”

“My thing?” What did she mean? Oh. “Don’t you find it useful?” So not only was she refusing sex with him, she was also refusing his skill set? What had she called him for, really?

“Well, it can be, but I need to know I can still do my job without it.”

“Without me, you mean.” Could he see Doctor Linda today? He really didn’t understand her.

“No, I just… I can’t always rely on you to be there. I’m glad you are, but you won’t always be.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, simply don’t kick me away, Detective. There, problem solved.”

“Lucifer.”

“Oh, fine. No asking anyone about” – he lowered his voice and stared into her eyes – “their deepest desires.” He grinned when she elbowed him, and they walked through the doors.

Sam Caballero and the policewoman with him were dwarfed by the size of the huge ballroom. The chandelier itself was about as big as his jacuzzi, he guessed. Not bad. Might give him a complex, though. Should he redecorate? He wandered about the room while the Detective asked a few questions, keeping an ear out for his answers. Yes he was at odds with his dad, no he didn’t know about the will, yes he’d come here to talk to his father, no he didn’t kill him, yes he was here when his father died – Lucifer’s ears perked. The kid was in shock, but still managed to describe what had happened – according to him, at least. Stepping into the house for the first time in years, going up the stairs, hearing a scuffle, finding his father bleeding out on the carpet. Trying to hold him, to keep him alive until the ambulance arrived, trying to talk to him. Watching him die.

Lucifer walked back to Sam. “What did you want to see your father for?”

“I thought…” he took a deep breath. “I thought he should know he was about to be a grandfather.”

“A good reason to need money if you ask me,” the police officer said from behind Sam.

“Thank you for your insight,” the Detective said. “Any idea of who would want to kill your father and why?”

“No, not really. I haven’t been in touch with him for ages anyway.”

Lucifer was sure that the kid knew something he wasn’t saying, and he could see doubt in his partner’s eyes too. He waggled his eyebrows at her, looked insistently at Sam, gestured between the fidgeting kid and himself – to no avail. She ignored him and dragged him away from the suspect, leaving Sam with the police officer. “But Detective, I could have got something from him!”

“Maybe. I’d like to go over the details in the will and some business documents they’ve found on the victim’s desk. Coming?”

“But… that’s boring!”

“I thought you were good at this and wanted to help, Lucifer.”

Well, he’d wanted a change from ruling hell. Sighing, he followed her upstairs.

 

Boring it was, he decided – but not unfruitful. He felt like preening when the Detective complimented him on pinpointing what had aroused her suspicions when she’d quickly had a look around waiting for his arrival. The date on the will; the half-scribbled, mostly illegible notes he’d managed to decipher; the phone number... It was a PI’s, and he’d come as soon as they’d called him.

“When I heard someone had been killed here, I thought I’d stay around,” he told them. “Hello, Mr Morningstar.”

“You know each other?” Lucifer ignored her surprise. He knew a lot of people, so why the wide eyes? Really. “Fine. Later. Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“Well, my client had me sign a privacy agreement, and I didn’t know yet he was the victim. Now, of course...”

“Mmmh. And what did he hire you for, Mr Camara?” She was driven in her job, dedicated to protecting the innocent, finding and jailing the guilty… all according to her human rules, sadly. Lucifer watched her, her focus on Camara’s answers. He was a rather in-demand PI in the area, efficient and discreet. When he’d arrived in the US four years ago, his English had been shaky, his resumé impressive, and as a favour to someone just arriving in this bright new land he’d helped him get his license, find his first clients… He’d been lost and heartbroken at having to flee his beloved Mali, but also ambitious and with a hunger for life that was pleasing to watch. Then he helped some of Lucifer’s clients out later on, and theirs had become a fruitful relationship.

Camara told them about what he knew. Caballero had wanted to reunite with his son or at least check he was doing fine, had learned about his girlfriend and the baby on the way, and had wanted to make sure his will would transmit some of the family wealth to his grandchild-to-be. They never did have the talk they’d been hoping for, it seemed. Ah well, overbearing fathers were nothing new, Lucifer mused. As they shook hands before parting ways, he slipped Camara the number of a friend in need of some investigating. Making deals was, after all, his thing.

“How do you know him?” the Detective asked as she walked with him to his car.

“He’s an old friend.”

“Huh uh.”

“He is. Arrived in this fine city just after I did. I provide him with a great client base.”

“And what does he do for you?” Lucifer only smiled mysteriously. He’d read in a magazine being mysterious was a great way to arouse interest, why not try it? He hated Dr Linda’s waiting room but she’d made it clear he was not to barge in while she was with another client (she hadn’t said anything about when she wasn’t), so. One had to make do with whatever entertainment was available. “Ugh, Lucifer, you look just as smarmy as Roger Moore. See you at the station?”

Smarmy as – no, he wouldn’t dignify his with an answer. “I can drive you back, Detective. Your own car isn’t here, have one of your minions get the police car back to the precinct.”

She rolled her eyes and got in, and he grinned – and drove – like a loon. She looked a bit pale when they got there, but hey – time was of the essence, right? A dead man was, well. Dead.

 

A letter addressed only to “the Morning Star” was waiting on her desk and she handed it to him, eyebrows raised – they went even higher when he only glanced at it before shucking it into the bin. She was waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. Not her business, not even his either. He was _done_.

“...Okay then,” she finally said. “Want to work on the will? Or the family business?”

She plunked two thick files on the desk in front of him. “Well, I should...”

“Okay, I’ll take the will. I’m sure you have a keen eye for spotting weird business practices, right?”

“You wound me, Detective. May I remind you Detective Douche never found anything wrong in Lux’s books.”

“Yeah, he even said they were too clean.”

“I don’t understand, is that a bad thing?”

“Argh, just – ” she waved at his file and he sat down, taking his jacket off and rolling his sleeves. “Oh! What happened?”

“What?”

She waved at his arm. “Oh, that. Helped security throw out a pack of grabby, drunk morons at Lux.”

“But… but… you didn’t get stitches?”

It was a good thing she could only see his forearm, then. He hadn’t thought their little blades would hurt him, but he’d been surprised to discover they actually did. He’d scanned the club for the Detective at first, thinking she must be nearby; but – nope. Mazikeen had been furious with him. Again. He didn’t need another angry partner, thank you very much. “Well, no; it would have taken more than a bit of thread; my suit was ruined – perfectly good suit, too. Shame. Easier to buy a new one.”

She rolled her eyes and started on her own file, but when he came back in after a phone call with some of his contacts he found a dark chocolate doughnut on his file. She didn’t look up, and it was probably a good thing – he knew he was gaping a little. Not his best look. He loved dark chocolate-glazed doughnuts. So he had a sinfully good thank-you coffee delivered to the precinct from his favourite shop, but everyone else glared at them when the barista set his little stand next to their desk and wonderful coffee aromas filled the large room. He ended up having to offer coffee to every officer, and that really wasn’t what he’d had in mind. Still, the Detective smiled at him, so. He’d count it as a success.

 

There were seriously fishy going-ons in the Caballero business, he explained on the way back to the family home. The older brother had gone there as soon as his plane had landed, and they certainly had questions for him.

When they entered the lobby, they found Sam and Miguel on the verge of a fist fight; they would clearly have been at each other’s throats had the officers not restrained them.

“You killed our father!” Miguel was as stocky as his father had been, and had their mother’s fair hair.

“I didn’t, Miguel. I found him bleeding out in his study!”

“Oh yeah, and just when you’re going to need more money, huh?”

“What?”

“I know you want money because you knocked up some bitch, right?”

Sam would have escaped the policewoman had his phone not rung at that moment. He got it out and listened, and when he hung out was very, very pale. “It’s… it’s happening.”

“What?” The good Detective’s voice was short, just like Lucifer’s temper right now. He couldn’t abide family drama. Pointless.

“She’s at the hospital. I have to get there, it’s now, it’s now, I’m going to be a father, I – ”

The policewoman didn’t budge. “You’re a suspect. You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’ll drive him, Detective. You know he won’t get away from me, don’t you?” She visibly wavered. Lucifer really, really wanted out of here, out of the tension building between the brothers.

“Fine. Don’t let him out of your sight and report to me, all right?”

He dragged Sam out to his car under the officer’s and Miguel’s disapproving stares. He didn’t know, and didn’t care, if it was proper procedure or not. Free at last!

Well, almost.

 

The hospital was hellish – and he knew what he was talking about. Desperate people in pain; the smell of death and blood and everything a body could leak; fear and anguish; and nurses thinking he was Sam Caballero’s brother. Really!?

He refused to accompany him inside the room where his girlfriend was in labour, and spent the hours annoying the Detective via texts, finding more information on Caballero’s shadiest partners, and charming the staff. Still got it, hah. He convinced a doctor to let him use his office, much nicer than the hospital waiting rooms – except when the doctor’s boyfriend showed up, and then the doctor also showed up and had to explain why a devilishly handsome man was already there, and he ended up having to give them tips to improve their sex life. Watching them blush and stammer – doctors! – had been amusing, at least.

The night was falling when Sam got out of the room with a bundle in his arms, trying to foist it on _him_ , of all people.

“Thank you, Mr Morningstar, I can’t thank you enough… Look, it’s my daughter! I said we should call her Lucy and – ”

“Don’t.” He edged away from father and child, wary of anything that could be puked, pooped of drooled on his fine-wool Italian bespoke suit.

“I’m really grateful… Oh, I wish my dad had held my baby girl! Thank you so much, here, would you like to hold her?”

“Not really, no.” Perhaps he should take him back to the station, he thought as he edged away from the… thing. Before he could call the Detective, his phone rang.

“Lucifer, we’ve confirmed Sam is not the perp. Autopsy showed the lethal wounds were done when he was still on camera at the library.”

“Oh, good. Haven’t wasted my afternoon at all then.”

“You did send us some leads on the father’s business, though.”

“Yes, well – duty calls, Detective. Another kind of duty. I have a real job, if you recall.” He liked hearing her laugh, the one free of mockery or faked cheer.

“Enjoy your evening, Lucifer.”

“You too.” She’d probably spend it with her spawn instead of coming to Lux, but. One could always hope she’d come to her senses one day.

He threw away the envelope that had appeared in his jacket pocket in the nearest bin as he walked back to his Corvette.

 

The next few days were not very thrilling, sadly.

First, his brother had landed on his balcony a morning – a _morning_ – to tell him he should see their father; and he’d of course refused. Amenadiel had insisted, but how would he do that anyway? Rent a plane? Buy a rocket from Elon Musk, maybe? The bastard had the gall to only grin as evilly as an as-yet unfallen angel could, and no, no way. No being carried around anymore.

The Detective had seen the older brother without him while he’d been following her orders to stay with Sam, and apparently she hadn’t learned much. They visited some of the more respectable business partners but no lead had emerged and all alibis seemed to check, and it was starting to be boring. Maybe the shadier ones would be more fun, he hoped. But he got a call on a Friday morning (6 am! Good thing he didn’t really need sleep, wasn’t it?) to come to the precinct ASAP, and so he did. The few officers here were looking very bleary-eyed, and on principle Lucifer upped his own chirpiness. She glared at him when he gave her his best smile, and dodged her half-hearted punch with ease after he asked about her night in his most sugary-sweet, solicitous voice.

“Just so you know, I hate you,” she mumbled hen he half-sat on her desk.

“Of course not,” he answered and slipped coffee from her favourite coffee shop in her flailing hands. She blinked like an owl and latched on it. Score one for the devil!

She made a little moan (he made her do that! Getting there, he thought, getting there) in the cup and, looking more awake but also grim and determined, went on with what had made her call him. “The child has been kidnapped. They’re asking for Caballero’s head in exchange for her.”

“What child?”

“Sam’s.” She glared at him. “We’ve put out an AMBER alert but I’d like to do some investigating on the side. I think the Stavros company is linked, somehow.”

“Why?”

“Well, we know Caballero was in contact with them, and that they wanted to buy some of his shares.”

“And he kept refusing.”

“Yes. Well, look at this.” He looked at her computer screen, where a child was crying and fussing and lying on folded-up cardboard boxes. “Looks a bit like the top part of the Stavros logo, doesn’t it?”

“Hm. Yes, well. What do you need me for, Detective?”

“The baby is five days old, Lucifer. We have to find her as soon as possible.”

“But why should I care?”

She looked a hair’s breath away from strangling him. “Do you know her name?”

“No, and I. Don’t. Care.”

“Lucy Stella.”

“ _What_?” The cheek! Poor kid, she’d never live up to his name.

“So now you’re going to help me find her, and we’re going to start by combing through the people I pretend I don’t know you know.”

He really, really didn’t want her to know about all his contacts. She might suspect, but… given what he could guess from the kidnappers’ picture, it wasn’t the Stavros people. It was worse, and he’d rather she didn’t have any dealings with them; he wanted her in one piece, thank you very much. Besides, if he found the kid by himself, he’d be all heroic, right? Getting her in his bed was really harder work than it should. “Fine, but I’ll have to leave at 10, I have a meeting I can’t postpone.”

She didn’t look too happy, but thankfully didn’t rant at him. “Fine.” She uncapped a pen. “What do you know about Stavros?”

 

He tried to lead her away from those he suspected to be the real kidnappers, but she was eagle-eyed enough to have spotted the strange pattern in the cloth around the child – an Escher-like design of very small, interlocking, vaguely animal figures that seemed to range from good old sheep to red-eyed bats, from goats (goats!) to undefinable, organic things. Good thing she only found it strange and focussed on what he knew of the Stavros Fine Meats company. Camara had worked for them when they’d suspected some corporate spying, and he certainly knew things he shouldn’t have.

He left the precinct at 10, even though she was clearly unhappy at him – thinking he was putting money above a life, probably. Well, she wouldn’t be the first to think the worst of him. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t let her come near those people.

First, he called one of his dancers – lucky things she hadn’t been working last night or she’d have been furious at him for waking her up. “Hi, Ebony.”

“Bossman?”

“Aw, you know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Sure, bossman.” He could hear her grin through the phone. “Need something?”

“Well. Remember those people you were with, before?”

There was only silence for a few long, long moments. “Yes.” A sigh. “You helped me get away.”

“Of course I did, you are a much better dancer than a minion of evil, and from what I hear an even better physics student than a dancer.”

“What can I do for you?” He could hear her wariness. Getting her teen self to seduce older men into getting caught in their schemes… he could very well imagine she didn’t want to relive those memories.

“Remember when you told me they recruited you when you were 12?” She didn’t answer. “Well, now they’ve got a 5-day-old child. Any idea where they could keep it? A place linked with the Stavros company, maybe?” Their logo was ubiquitous enough it might ring a bell, he hoped.

He heard her inhale sharply. “Stavros’s younger son was recruited a few months before I left. Might be using their warehouses.” She rattled an address, he thanked her and his car shot into traffic. Sometimes people owing him was a really, actually useful thing.

 

He parked his Corvette a little away from the warehouse, and let his senses expand around him – the smell of decay and blood fresh and old, the noises of engines; the greyed-out industrial buildings; the taste of death on his tongue. Even the air felt slick and dirty. His old instincts rose up to the surface, and he was on the prowl.

One building in particular caught his attention; far away from the others that sounds wouldn’t be heard easily but close enough not to be really conspicuous. He headed there, circling from behind to avoid being seen by the workers and hugging the grimy walls. He wouldn’t be really visible if he didn’t want to be, but he’d also thought the Detective’s bullet wouldn’t hurt him, so for once he’d better play it safe. Being mortal. What a novel thing, still. But he knew only hell awaited him if he died, and that wouldn’t, couldn’t do. There were so many more things to try on this Earth, such as not being in hell.

The building he’d been aiming for was not very busy, but a few people were still going in and out, carrying boxes with care. Lucifer tried to listen for the sounds a child would make, a clue; but there was none. That is, none until he ended up face to face with a giant of a man, carrying yet another box covered with the blanket he’d seen on the ransom picture, or at least a very similar one. Making the most of the man’s surprise, he punched him in the gut and kneed his face before he could raise the alarm, grabbing the box as the mook fell like a tree. It was full of more blankets in the same style, those unnerving shapes everywhere on the cloth, looking at him and mocking him and a grotesque travesty of his father’s creation. He threw it on the unconscious man in disgust. Let him enjoy the images when waking up.

He hated these people, their sick cult only a sham for the more canny among them, who made boatloads of money thanks to their brainwashed masses. He wasn’t sure he wanted to dwell too long on what they wanted with the infant – or what eternal punishment fitting their sins some of the members ended up receiving when they arrived in hell, back when he had still been a good, obedient devil.

He slipped inside, and almost gagged at the smell of blood. It came from here, he realized. Creeping forward, he caught sight of jars filled with red liquid or dead, exsanguinated animals; dried entrails hanging from beams; slick patches on the floor. Cameras and spotlights were half-packed in a corner, tools that were half-way between what you’d find in the DIY aisle and in a XIXth century surgeon’s hands were still on the floor, on what looked like an operating table.

That’s when he heard the sounds of a baby fussing, probably getting ready for a good long wail. He followed them and saw it; a tiny little thing in another of these sick blankets, between what looked like a horned animal skull – hopefully not a goat, but with his luck and the way the things haunted him… – and a hammer. A bloody _hammer_. No one was around and he grabbed the child. Now for the escape… or not.

She started whining when he jostled her from arm to arm, and then it was full-on crying, loud and wet and he hoped his eardrums would recover more quickly from this than he had from bullets not so long ago. Going out the way he’d gone in was out of the question, and he looked around for another door. He didn’t find one, but there were jerry-cans of gasoline in a corner. Perfect. He unscrewed one, kicked it, and threw his lighter in the slick oil. Smoke and flames started quickly as he ran the opposite way, weaving between metal shelves, wooden boxes and disturbing… let’s call them things. The warehouse would become lethal very quickly, but he hoped most of the workers here had been too indoctrinated to think of saving their lives first and foremost before saving whatever it was they did there. As soon as he felt fresh – well, fresher – air hit his face, he peered down at the child’s face. He’d tried to hold a piece of his jacket over her nose and mouth, but he wasn’t sure how babies, humans in general really, worked. Had she breathed in too much smoke? He could remember the Detective with an oxygen mask after they’d fled the burning kitchen. His back against the building, he felt it getting warmer and warmer.

He still had to get to his car, but it would be hard to skulk around with a crying child and his smoking suit – to cross casually the courtyard where a few vans were idling.

“There! They went there!” Three sets of feet. No time to think about it, he ran to the nearest door he could see – hopefully they wouldn’t see him get in.

They did.

He put the child out of the way behind a sturdy desk screwed to the floor, and looked around. Big heavy stapler, huge scissors, pens, laptop, not much else. When the door opened he stabbed the first one with the scissors, threw the stapler at the second’s head, and rammed the third’s skull in the wall. There, good job, efficient if a bit bloody. He ruined suits before having them sent even once to the cleaner’s these days, he really should send his clothing bills to the precinct. Picking up the squirming child, he looked out of the window through the blinds. Another man was approaching, stumbling and coughing and covered in soot but also holding a gun, and he was almost at the door.

Lucifer jumped into the next room, and a blast of freezing air hit him in the face. Huge slabs of meat were hanging everywhere from gigantic metal hooks, sometimes even half-cows and pigs and sheep. Probably goats too, he thought bitterly. There was almost no light apart from the automatic security lights, making everything appear even more ghoulish. Taking his jacket off, he wrapped it around the child, hoping the wool would stave off a bit of the cold. He couldn’t bring back a frozen child, it would work against his goals. Still, he should have brought Maze – except she’d have told him he was losing his mind, and he wouldn’t be stuck in a giant industrial freezer with a human child. Maybe she’d have been right; he thought. Closing his eyes, he let his inner fire rise his temperature and try and keep the _really_ tiny human mostly alive.

He heard the door open and close, the shambling, uneven footsteps of the man – he wasn’t unharmed. Good. Lucifer looked up and assessed the hanging carcasses, the rails, the hooks; estimating angles and speed and mass… there. One-handed, he sent a dead cow careening on the screeching rail. The man cried out, flailed, collapsed as a shot rang out; then silence.

Lucifer opened his eyes to a world that looked a little strange until he realized he was lying on his side, the child still quietly fussing against him. He made to stand up but his body didn’t seem to cooperate. He tried and tried and started to panic, but his legs wouldn’t move and other lackeys might get here and he had. To. Move. He became aware of a shooting pain in his lower back, just under his belt, and he realized what had happened. He really, really should have listened to Maze, or at least his Jiminy Cricket mind-Maze. Here he was, the mighty Satan, lying on a dirty floor with an infant probably covered in snot, unable to stand up and at the mercy of anyone who would come. Gritting his teeth, he used one arm to haul himself to a corner, half-hidden in the shadows of the carcasses, and waited. His phone was dead, crushed in his fall; and he had no means of getting help. How could he have thought he could pull this off on his own? He should have known he would fail. Not like dear old dad would ever let him off the hook – hah – and free to get what he wanted, anyway.

He slipped in and out of consciousness, checking the child was still warm enough, still in one piece. Could he keep her alive long enough for (non-hostile) people to find them? He didn’t know how long it lasted, flashes of regret and worry and pain and bitterness in-between stretches of nothingness.

At one point, he realized the child was not moving anymore. He tried to gently shake it, but nothing happened. That’s it, he’d killed her. Fine. Great. Utter success. Score one for the devil. Well, he was supposed to enjoy death and suffering, killings and torture. So there he was. Killing infants. A new low.

“Lucifer!” He slitted his eyes half-open, and a blurry Detective was crouching over him.

“Dead,” he mumbled and released his death grip on the baby.

“What?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Luci. She’s just frozen _in time_.” Oh. He was here too. Great, just great. “Why are you lying on the floor?”

He felt hands taking the child, brushing against him. “Oh! But you’re burning up!”

“That’s how you kept her alive then. Good thinking, brother.”

“What do you – ” Lucifer heard her gasp when he opened his eyes fully. They must be red and burning then. It was hard to control at times. “Okay, later. What happened?” She lit a torchlight with her free hand, child tucked into the heavy insulated jacket she must have found somewhere, and gaped at the scene around her – a long streak of blood on the floor, his shaking hands and horrifyingly still legs. “How could you even move enough to get here?”

“Don’t feel anything.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve felt much worse before.” And also now. Why was Amenadiel keeping a hand on her neck? The bastard. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

“We don’t. I’ll let time flow again so you can get out, but I’m taking Lucifer up to Raphael.”

No. No, no, no. No way was he going back there, no way was he letting them see him like that, broken and wingless and powerless. Away, he needed to get away; he got a hand, two hands under him – push, pull, get away, get away. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction to win and send him back in hell, he wouldn’t.

“Don’t move or you’ll only make it worse,” she said. Her hand on his shoulder was even stronger than her words, and he thought this time, it was really over. Drained and empty of anything, even of will.

Vaguely, he felt like the floor was falling away from him, heard from far away someone say, see you soon. Talk with your father. Come back, please come back.

He could have hallucinated it.

 

A gentle hand in his hair woke him up, slowly and gently going back and forth and around. He was lying on something soft, and there was no pain anywhere, just warmth and comfort and something he couldn’t quite remember nor forget – a memory dulled by time and now polished again. He didn’t want to lose that feeling, and so he fell back asleep, the hand soothing and kind and lulling. As he slipped under, he heard a long-ago familiar voice whisper, “I’ve missed you.”

The next time he floated back to consciousness, it was to Amenadiel’s sour face, framed by a bright blue sky and huge grey wings. “You couldn’t have truly believed you could escape father forever, brother.”

Lucifer wanted to fall back asleep right away, but sadly he had to face the angelic music. “Why yes, I could.” He was startled to hear his voice, scratchy and rough.

“You’ve always been too stubborn anyway; and look where it got you.”

“In bed with you hovering over me; which is not very desirable, I concede.” He started to sit up but it felt like someone was trying to sever his spine with a red hot, blunt knife; and he collapsed back on the bed panting, a scream caught in his throat. Lucifer tried to swallow down his panic; trapped up here at his siblings’ mercy – his father’s. He gritted his teeth and forced his body to obey, but Amenadiel, the smug bastard, only needed to put a finger on his sternum to stop him.

“Raphael’s going to be very angry when he finds out you’ve been trying to undo all his hard work.”

“You’re right, I _am_ angry. Hello, Samael. Long time no see; I’d rather it were not with you in such a state. How did you manage that? Ah, do stop fidgeting and let me check your back.” His back – they’d seen the scars, they’d know he couldn’t fly away. He felt like he could scream; if only he could just escape, crawl away even – just leave; he’d fall down to hell all over again if he had to. “Just – s top moving, brother. You need more time to heal still.” Heal? Heal from what? He’d been growing more and more vulnerable, fragile, _mortal_ these last few months and now, now all those who’d wanted him as far away as possible had him here, unable to defend himself or even flee. What kind of plan could his father have for him? Be a chew-toy? He wished he could believe father Frank, he wished he could trust in his own father’s benevolence and love, but…

“Why didn’t you answer father’s messages anyway? Amenadiel told you about them. If only you had it wouldn’t have gone that far.” What? What had gone that far? Maybe he’d said that out loud, maybe his surprise was plain on his face. “Oh, you didn’t realize? Father was trying to… get your attention, since you wilfully ignored all his messages.” Lucifer felt his lips move, mouthing the words. Get my attention. My _attention_. “We thought you’d be worried about what was happening, that you’d come up for answers at least. We’ve been waiting a very long time for you to come, and you never did, and then you cut off your wings, because you’re _insane_!”

“Stop it. Stop. I have fallen, I am the devil, and I am not welcome here nor do I want to be. I do not want to _be_ here with all your sanctimonious faces and your smugness and righteousness and holy grace and – ” he has to stop, panting at the sharp spikes of pain whenever he moved. He’d never get away at this rate, and he had to, he _had_ to. “I was banished, or don’t you remember?”

“Oh, we do. Bitterly, for some of us. Even father wished for you to come back after you fought. No one thought it would last that long, Sam…” Raphael stopped at Lucifer’s glare. “…brother.”

“Well then he shouldn’t have turned me into… into… into this!” He felt his eyes flash red for a moment, and saw Raphael’s raised eyebrow.

“Well, you and father have always pushed each other’s buttons more than any other, really.” He rubbed his palms together. “Well, now. You should…”

“I should do nothing, apart from leave this place.”

A deep voice came from the door frame. “Leave without saying hi?”

Lucifer looked away from his brothers and thought his insides were collapsing on themselves like a dying star. “Frank,” he said.

“You really must have more faith, you know. Including in yourself.” Father Frank sat on the bed, smiling down at Lucifer.

“Bollocks.”

“Try it some time. Now, we have to get your siblings to branch out in music, Delilah and I just can’t get them to.”

“Bored already?”

“Well, I’m sure it would be more exciting with you around from time to time, that’s for sure.”

Raphael rolled his eyes. “That’s one word for it, I guess.”

“I remember the epic shouting matches, yes,” Amenadiel added.

“Looking forward to it then.”

“No. Not a chance. You don’t get to throw me out and pretend it didn’t happen, and I’m not begging for anything from you. I don’t want _anything_.” How dare they, after letting him burn, letting him become hated and reviled and despised, after never a visit, never a single scrap of anything – only bitterness and resentment. His heart sped up again and he looked away before he started shouting again.

A presence made itself known to them all, and they grew silent. “We’ll leave you, then,” Raphael said quietly, and Lucifer felt fear trickle down his skin and chill him. But there was only a soft humming, in a voice he’d loved so much, resented and longed for so much. Still, he refused to look up until he heard they had gone away at last, and then he felt strength and warmth and acceptance surround him and he clutched at it all, terrified it would disappear again.

 

Was it forgiveness given, or forgiveness asked? Was it absolution?

How did he let it go this far? How could he have forgiven what his father’s love was? And yet, he couldn’t forget the pain, the loneliness and the guilt, either. Not right now, at least. When his father’s presence gently withdrew, though, it left something behind; a little seed of love and divine grace so small and yet so much more than the nothingness there had been before.

This time, when he fell back asleep to the sight of the cloudless, perfect sky, he wasn’t choked by its vast emptiness. It wasn’t _empty_ anymore.

He’d be back, one day. And he’d be welcome.

 

“So what brings you back here, Lucifer?”

It was gentle chiding, but Dr Linda was right. He hadn’t seen her in quite some time, what with all that had happened – and his visit up there. It must have been a few weeks, and he used to stride in and even, at times, make an appointment at least once a week. He liked her; her no-nonsense, take-no-shit kindness; her strong will to resist and ignore the pull she clearly still felt towards him. She really deserved to be free of it, and it could probably be done. He should ask Raphael. She was looking at him strangely – oh yes, he hadn’t answered yet. “I saw my father,” he said.

“Ah.” She raised her eyebrows, expectant.

“I was… in hospital, _his_ hospital. My brother took me there. I didn’t want to go.”

“So you didn’t have a choice?” He shrugged. “How were you hurt?”

“Badly.”

“Lucifer.”

“Well it’s true! Bullet in the back, spine severed!” Details! She always demanded details.

“And yet here you are. Why do I think this is all another of your metaphors?”

“They’re not, doctor. I can show you if you like.” He took off his jacket and was unbuttoning his shirt when she stopped him.

“What are you doing?”

“Why, showing you, doctor. You can even touch if you’d like, to help you make sure.” He leered at her. “I promise I’ll only take the trousers off if you ask me.”

She rolled her eyes but let him finish and turn around. “What are _those_?”

“Hm? Oh, no, those are old.”

“But I’ve never seen them before.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“Wouldn’t…?”

“I usually… hide them. Now, just look here.” He pointed at where he knew the small white scar was.

“This looks years old, Lucifer. Although it also looks like you shouldn’t be able to be up and about with that, certainly.” She looked back up at his half-turned face. “And I’d like to know about those, too.”

“If only you’d accept the truth, doctor, it would all make a lot more sense.”

“The truth. That you’re the devil.”

“It’s who I am – it’s even in my name!”

She had the gall to smile. “You’re absolutely annoying, charming and prideful but evil you are not, Lucifer.”

“Yes, well. I never was meant to be, only the scapegoat. And _I don’t like goats_. And as for those… I had wings, before coming here. I had Maze cut them off.” He looked at the wall, the picture hiding the hole he’d punched into it.

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“They reminded me too much of all I’d lost. It was… a new beginning, if you will. A promise to myself, to answer to no master.”

“Okay…” she sounded dubious, but went along with it at least. “And this, this is only a couple of weeks old bullet wound?”

“Yes! See, when you believe me, things are easier, aren’t they?” He’d really like for her to trust him, but he couldn’t really show her his other face, or even just the eyes; he didn’t want to leave her a gibbering mess. But, maybe, he could now do this again… “Look, doctor.” Clasping his hands together, he focused on the gift from his father, his renewed birthright, the power he’d had long ago that had earned him the name Morningstar. When he drew his hands apart, a very small pinpoint of light was floating there, radiating heat and light. Dr Linda reached out a hand to touch it but he extinguished it quickly. “Don’t. It would burn you.”

She looked up, eyes wide and full of wonder. “How did you do that?”

“Ah, you people; always wanting to science away all the divine miracles.”

“Divine? I thought the devil was a fallen angel, not god.”

“Being able to do this is a gift from god, doctor.” She still didn’t look quite convinced. “Also, you should remember I have inhuman stamina.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Ugh, stop it, not the issue.” But she giggled. Still got it! It made him feel very smug. “So what happened with your father, then?”

Damn, she hadn’t forgotten. “It’s… better. Not resolved, but… better.” He wanted to fidget on the sofa, but the devil didn’t butt-dance. He still had some dignity left.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Still angry. But I… But we.” he paused. Through the huge window, the Earth sky was not as blue, not as bright, not as perfect. It was ever-changing and imperfect and endlessly fascinating. He didn’t think he could go back up there forever, he just wasn’t made for it. He wasn’t sure he’d even been made for it, really. Maybe it _was_ his father’s plan after all, even if it had meant so much heartbreak and rage. Maybe his place was everywhere; ruler of hell, king of punishment; child of heaven and the most human of angels. It should have felt lonely, to have so many places to call his but none that felt a home. But it felt right.

He stood up and held out his hand. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you for everything. Come to Lux whenever you want, you have a free pass, drinks on the house – the works; bring a guest if you’d like. You’ll always be welcome.”

“But we haven’t – ”

“Oh, we have; at least for today. And I promise I’ll have you free of me, too. You deserve better than lusting after me, although I do see the attraction.” She rolled her eyes when he winked. “Of course, for old times’ sake, if you’d like a last farewell fireworks session, I’d be happy to…”

She swatted at his arm and threw his shirt back at him. “I don’t quite understand what just happened in your mind, but it’s not like I can force you to anything.”

“Quite true. If you ever need anything though… just call me. You won’t ever owe me anything.” He kissed her cheek and walked away from her office, probably for the last time. He hoped she’d come to his club, although it would be better for everyone if she didn’t see him until he’d got something from Raphael to free her first. Maybe he could get real, actual friends here on Earth. After all, he already had siblings up there and minions down under.

Now, if only he could convince Chloe to be his lover – and then he’d get his father to let her be his lover everywhere and forever.

Could he make it all work? He wasn’t sure; but now, he found he could wish for things, and maybe even have them come true.

 

Lucifer watched the smoke go up in the night, faint little clouds disintegrating in the faint breeze. He was trying hard no to think about what had happened, about the Detective. He was slowly coming to terms with his stint in heaven after seeing Dr Linda, but his time here in Los Angeles… What did she know now? What had his insufferable brother told her? He remembered, fuzzily, his hand on her; their skins touching. Probably to keep her in his bubble of time, he could see it now his mind wasn’t hazy with shock; but it still rankled. He remembered she’d said once Amenadiel had all the charm in the family, and the smile she’d given the feathered bastard. He should forget about her, go somewhere else, another country, maybe another continent. All in all, maybe Maze was right; maybe it hadn’t been a good thing to stay here for so long. He’d even made friends with a priest and got himself a therapist, how was all this a devil thing to do? He ought to forget about the humans here – if he could. He couldn’t. They weren’t just humans to him now, and wasn’t that a terrifying thought?

The elevator doors opened. “I’m not going down, Maze. You can do without me tonight.”

“Not Maze, though she did tell me you were up here.” She threw his blood-stained, torn jacket on his sofa. Why had she kept it?

“What are you doing here, Detective?’

“Wondering when I’d have seen you next if she hadn’t, honestly.” He took another drag, slow and burning and comforting, looking over the city. He’d miss the view if he left, but he didn’t think he could leave. Or stay. “Lucifer. Lucifer, look at me.” He turned his head towards her. She was wearing her everyday clothes, looking a bit tired and rumpled, and yet there was nothing else but her, filling his eyes, filling the space around them. She sighed, and moved to lean on the railing next to him. “I guess it’s not a very legal cigarette you’re smoking.”

He turned back to the cityscape, feeling his lips quirk up a bit. “Will you report me, Detective?”

“Don’t be stupid. Mostly I’m relieved I don’t really have to worry about you and drugs and way, way too much alcohol for a human.” Then she tugged the joint from his fingers and brought it to her lips, sucking on it. He must have looked really dumbfounded because she snickered and stuck the roll-up back between his lips. “There.”

He took it back between his fore and middle-finger. “Why Detective, it’s almost a kiss by proxy.” He felt a bit lighter, seeing the mirth in her eyes and her impish smile.

“Wouldn’t you rather have a real one?” His eyes were probably very round right now, or maybe the drug was affecting him more than it should. “You know, I talked quite a lot with Amenadiel while you were up there. I think Sam Caballero reminds me a bit of you.”

“What? I’m not a, a paterfamilias.”

“But children love you, it’s a start. Also, he looks like you.” She twirled a finger above her head.

“I do not have curly hair!”

“Yes you do.”

“No I _don’t_!” She elbowed him when he huffed indignantly.

“Also, you’ve got the same name, well almost.”

He closed his eyes. Amenadiel shouldn’t have told her. “I don’t use that name anymore. It belongs in the past.” It may not be as painful as it had been, but the past should remain there.

“Of course not. But I won’t use it, if you don’t want me to.” She bumped his shoulder, gently. Well. Small as she was, she bumped his arm, not his shoulder. “Have you ever been a child, Lucifer?”

He didn’t remember many things from before. What could he answer? What did she mean, exactly? Had he ever been tiny and loud? Had he ever felt so safe nothing could ever hurt him? Had he ever trusted and loved unconditionally? Been trusted and been loved, too, unconditionally? Was she picturing a little Samael with dark hair and brown eyes like her daughter – and wasn’t that a mildly disturbing thought – running around on fluffy clouds?

He felt her small hand cover his, squeeze a little. It was as if she were squeezing his… heart, he supposed. Something inside him at any rate, and she was the only one who could make it jump and stop and stall and dance and contract and expand. Why? Why had she so much power over him? He couldn’t leave. He really couldn’t.

“Hm, and I guess I know now why you’re always so warm.”

He turned his hand around and dared to entwine their fingers. He tried to no clutch her too hard. “You saw me.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t run away screaming.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“It’s what people do. But not you.”

“No, not me.” She tugged on their joined hands to make him face her. “Can I get that kiss now?”

You can get anything, he thought, anything you want; he hoisted her up on the railing and she wrapped her limbs around him and he’d never, never let her go. He didn’t understand it – or her; but he definitely wanted it. And her.

She smelled a bit like fire, like gunpowder maybe – he imagined her feet firm on the shooting range floor, determined to never miss when it counted. A fighter she was; and she wasn’t afraid and she trusted him not to let her fall down from the thin railing; she was holding on, but not squeezing him as if she thought he might loosen his grip – how could he? He was the one falling, fallen; and she – wasn’t.

“I don’t want you to be doomed to hell because of me,” he said.

“I thought love and compassion were virtues.” Her mouth was just under his ear and he thought he could feel his hair shiver at her breath. She groped behind them and caught his hand, the joint; and brought it between them, took a drag. “But I’m not perfectly virtuous.”

“That’s a good thing, believe me.” He watched her hair flutter in the light, cool breeze. “What changed your mind?”

She shrugged. “I saw Linda yesterday. Dr Martin.”

“Dr Linda?”

“Yeah. We have coffee together from time to time and no, we usually don’t talk about you,” she added when he felt a smug smile creep on his lips.

“Oh. Well, that’s disappointing.”

“Sorry.” She grinned. And didn’t look very sorry. “Actually, we go to the same gym, we met there on a day I was in early. She’s a morning person, can you believe that?” He could, as it happened. “And so, here we are now.”

“Uh huh.”

“Yep.”

“And you never talk about me.”

“Nope.” She made the p pop, he was sure it was to tease him. It worked. “Except when you disappear after being shot in the back. I wanted to know if she had any news.”

“And did you tell her about that shot?”

“I’m not reporting to you what I say and do with my friends, Lucifer. But she told me she’d seen you a few days previous, and that you seemed… good.”

“Good.”

“Not telling.”

“Well she shouldn’t either,” he said with a pout. A cute pout, of course. She ignored it.

“Not telling you what she did and didn’t say either.” She – Chloe – _Chloe_ kissed his temple, right where the skin was thin and the nerves so near; and he held her a little harder. “Then I didn’t want to wait anymore. I had to see.”

“And?”

“And I like what I see.”

“I haven’t changed.”

“Oh no, not at all.” It sounded like she meant the exact opposite, sadly. “But if I ask you to keep an eye on Trixie, I know you’ll take a bullet for her.”

“I will, will I.”

“Yes you will.”

“Oh, fine. Babysitting once will be enough, after that you’ll never ask me again.”

She snorted – clearly she didn’t believe him. Sometimes he did wish he _could_ strike fear in some people’s minds. But then, these people – this one in particular – wouldn’t let their hands creep under his shirt, caress his skin. He shivered when she lay a palm flat over his heart, and he thought he could feel it stutter. It had never been so big before, had it? Could he do the same, could he slip a hand in her blouse, could he – he’d never asked himself these questions, before. Why now?

“Chloe,” he whispered. It sounded nice.

“Yes?” Her other hand was stroking his side, her fingers making circles and spirals and eights and he couldn’t follow them all.

“Oh – nothing. Just, just sounding out your name.”

“I like it when you say it.”

“I like saying it.”

“Convenient.” Yes. Yes it was. Why was he so awkward all of a sudden? Wasn’t he smooth and bewitching and everything, usually? “You’re fidgeting, Lucifer. What is it? I thought you were a smooth sex god.”

She’d noticed. Ouch. “I don’t need to. People usually really want to sleep with me.” Please say –

“Well I do too.” Thank go – fath – thank you. Thank you.

Her hands were here and there and everywhere, and he found he didn’t even want to stop them when they neared his shoulder-blades; he felt them hesitate and then, when he didn’t react, get closer, closer – touching the edges, touching his scarred skin carefully. She grew bolder, both hands now like a balm, like forgiveness and healing; and no one had ever, ever done that before; he wouldn’t have let them. He would let her do anything. He hoped she wouldn’t suddenly leave to go back to her spawn, he wasn’t sure he could let her go. “Will you stay? Say you will.”

“Do you want me to?”

He dragged her even closer to him, so close she must be feeling how hard he was, how burning. “What do you think?” She squirmed against him and he wanted to whine.

“I can’t stay.” He did whine this time. “But you can come with me.” Come with her he gladly would, as often as she’d want. His hips were already moving minutely and he couldn’t, wouldn’t stop them. “One condition though.”

“Hm?” No way were his lips leaving her skin at the moment.

“You’ll make pancakes in the morning for Trixie.” She squeezed him one last time, lingering further down on his back before unwrapping her legs from him and then – he almost let her fall with a surprised yelp. “What…?”

He took a step back to let her slip down on the balcony floor, keeping a hand of hers in one of his, both shaking a little. “I… I apologize. At worst you would have fallen into the net I had put just under, you know. Drunk people do silly things sometimes.” Really not smooth.

“Good to know, but…” She peered into her face. “What just happened? Did I touch something I shouldn’t have?” He let his shirt fall to his wrists and turned his back to her. “That’s where you were shot?”

“Yes.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s just… sensitive. A reminder, I guess.”

Her only answer was a touch and a kiss just between his shoulder-blades, and he shrugged his shirt back on.

Lucifer couldn’t quite decide if he believed she was actually saying yes, I want you; yes, come to my place – even though he almost dropped her from his high-rise, net notwithstanding.

She insisted he took an overnight bag (“I don’t have half as many beauty products as you do”), he insisted on bringing ingredients he’d never seen in her own kitchen. She stuck out her tongue at him when he mocked her lack of what he considered vital stuff like a nutmeg grater or grooming essentials like expensive, anti-aging, smoothing wrinkle cream (“you don’t actually need it.” “But it feels so nice and luxurious!”). And hair products. Her eyes bugged out a little at the amount he owned, but he needed them. Really.

Finally, they went down to her car, not even stopping at Lux though he’d have liked to show off a little. He wanted everyone to see her and be jealous of his luck, he wanted to sing to her and only her in front of all the patrons – racy songs, seductive songs, sweet songs; all the songs. But she tugged him along to her car (she pretended he drove too much like a maniac, as if) and he tried very hard not to touch her, her thigh, her cheek, her hand, her hair as she concentrated on the road. He had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate it. Self-restraint really sucked.

When they entered the quiet house they found the babysitter dozing on the couch, phone clutched in his hand. She paid him and sent him on his way while Lucifer rummaged in her kitchen cupboards, grumbling about what he didn’t see and squealing a little when he found berries in the freezer. He jumped when her arms snaked around his waist and turned him around.

“Didn’t know you could be so excited about my fridge.”

“I need you in top shape for what I have planned, you know.”

“What you’ve planned, huh.”

“Well, yes, I…” he was cut short by Trixie, tottering out of her bedroom holding a disintegrating teddy in one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other.

“Mommy?”

Chloe’s arms left him and she squatted to pick the child up. “Shouldn’t you be asleep, little monkey?”

“But mommy, I thought I heard – Lucifer!” She squirmed to be let down and, suddenly wide awake, ran to him and hugged his waist – just where her mother’s arms had been just a few moments before. He felt mildly betrayed by fate, yet again.

“Hello, child. Your mother’s right, you ought to be in bed – all of us, really,” he said with a look at Chloe. She looked like she wanted to laugh at him and really, had he no dignity left around her? With a long-suffering sigh, he picked the child up and the tiny human threw her little limbs around his neck, almost strangling him in her enthusiasm. He carried her back to her bed and willed her to fall asleep again. She blinked up at him and mumbled, “see you in the morning, Lucifer,” and finally closed her eyes as her breathing evened out. He stood up and watched her for a few moments, to make sure she wouldn’t disturb them for the reminder of the night. He didn’t think he could take any more delays.

As he turned around he saw Chloe in the door frame. “Did you just… put a spell on her? I’ve never seen her fall asleep so quickly.”

“Oh no, just a strong suggestion.”

“It’s very efficient at any rate,” she said as she closed the door behind them.

“Yes, well. I don’t want your spawn to distract you.”

“She’s the most important person in my life, Lucifer. And she needs me,” she added. “Don’t pout, you don’t. Not like she does.”

Didn’t he? He wasn’t sure, to be honest. How could he know? He never really had to do without her since he’d met her, and right now he wanted to go back to kissing her and he just didn’t know where to start anymore. It had always been so simple before, and with her it was like he’d lost the manual.

As he was standing there a bit lost, she grabbed his sleeve between two fingers and dragged him upstairs, and follow her he could. She pushed him to make him sit on the bed and he found he really liked looking up at her; it was novel and exciting. What did people do when they tried to get him interested? He leaned back on his hands and cocked his head, but she only giggled. “Does it actually work on people?” He shrugged, a bit stung. “I’m sorry, I’m only teasing. It’s kind of cute, really.” She sat down next to him, sighing heavily. “It’s been a long day.”

“Oh.” He tugged her down to lie on the bed next to him. Clearly, he’d have to get her back into the mood. “Could a massage help? I’m told I have nice warm hands.”

“I bet. Okay. It sounds nice.” She took her jacket off and threw it on a chair to lie more comfortably on her stomach, head on her folded arms. “Might fall asleep though.”

“Right.” She wouldn’t dare, would she? He gathered her hair to the side first, letting the fine strands go through his fingers like a little waterfall, then kissed her nape because he wanted to. He urged her to raise a bit and take her top off, unclasped her bra – plain black, just a little lace – when she settled back down. She seemed a little startled; how did she think one went about giving massages? Still, she wriggled and took it off from under her, and he resisted his desire to cup her breasts in his hands. He had a mission.

He started by running his hands on her skin, letting her get used to it, to the warmth that gathered in his palms. She melted a bit more in the mattress, and he smiled. He started going further down, sliding his thumb under her belt, pressing right where he’d seen her rub at times when she’d been sitting too long in front of a computer. She gave a little sigh and reached under herself to open her fly and tugged down her jeans a little, and – much better.

He started in earnest then, alternating long, slow, sweeping strokes and focussing on some tense muscles. Warmth and pressure and, at times, bending down and kissing her spine; just to remind her it was his hands, and not anyone else’s. It was soothing for him too, meditative; her soft skin and little sighs and voiceless moans and there was absolutely nothing but her in this moment. She looked almost, but not quite asleep, and he found he didn’t have it in him to wake her up fully; not even when she rolled her back in his chest with a happy little murmur. He wrapped an arm around her waist and contented himself with looking at her, a palm on her stomach and the other under his head, watching her over. Watching over her, too. If she needed sleep, then she’d have it. She must have wanted something else before though, because she took his hand and brought it down to her fly, under the fabric – oh. Oh. The _wet_ fabric. He felt a little bold, slipping a finger, then two under her panties; slipping and sliding and finding just the right spot to have her quickly shudder under him, her nipples tight and pink. She hadn’t even opened her eyes, and she fell into a deep sleep quickly after that, while he was licking his fingers.

He quickly removed her trousers before manhandling her under the covers and remained on top of them, listening to her breathing, feeling very much confused and un-devilish and bizarrely… happy?

 

There was barely any light coming through the curtains, it must be pretty early still. She made a soft noise and bumped against him when she moved. A hand got out from under the cover and groped blindly until he caught it, and she blinked open one eye. “Timezit?”

“Not even daytime.”

“Whyya dressed?” She poked clumsily at his shirt.

“Do you want me to undress?”

“Mmh. Warm. C’mere.”

“As you wish.” Well, as he wished, too. He took off his clothes and slipped under the covers she raised, and she immediately latched onto him. “Are you that cold?”

She made a little frustrated noise when her fingers encountered his boxers, and he felt his eyebrows go up when he realized she had ditched her own underwear at some point. My my. She crawled over him when he was finally entirely naked and didn’t, in fact, fall back asleep. “Hello,” she whispered.

“Hello.” She was slowly rubbing her whole body against his, and at that very moment he wasn’t feeling at his best in the suavity department.

“You feel good.” Did he? Of course he did. He – oh. Yes. They could kiss too. Definitely. He buried a hand in her hair and turned them on their sides, a leg up between hers and his free hand raising her thigh even higher over his.

It wasn’t quite how he’d imagined it would happen between them – a shouting match ending on a passionate embrace? Her finally falling for him after he’d saved the day? Her giving in to his flirting at last? It all seemed pretty silly in hindsight, and didn’t hold a candle to the real thing. He felt – he didn’t know how he felt. Were there words? Skin and smell and hair and mouth and soft and hard and wet and Chloe. Chloe. Her nails were digging into his back and finally, finally, she gasped in his ear and he didn’t know what it was anymore, pain or pleasure or both; it felt like she’d ripped open his skin to the bone and welcoming all of him into her and –

 

When Lucifer swam back to consciousness, there was a strange, both alien and familiar weight pinning him down. He twitched a bit and heard a rustling sound, and Chloe’s whispered “hey.” He hummed a little, and she poked him. “Open your eyes, Lucifer. Look.”

So he did, and his eyes widened at the sight. _They_ were back. Bloody and in need of serious grooming, but they were back. He reached out a hand to wipe a bit of blood from her cheek – oh, her bed was ruined, really. “I’ll buy you a new one,” he said. “Bigger.” There was awe on her face, and he felt a bit self-conscious. Were they so much better than the rest of him? “You can touch, if you want to.” Before he had Maze cut them off again, because he couldn’t bear it if his dear Detective had only eyes for them. No, really. Ah, well – who was he kidding.

Clearly, she did want to touch; but she was careful about it. Her fingers first lightly skimmed the top edge closest to her, then she grew bolder, touching with the whole palm, then burying her entire hand – hands. He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten what it had been like aeons ago, siblings helping each other out when feathers got tangled, when they’d been all energetic, dishevelled and young and silly. Now, he didn’t think he’d let anyone else lay a finger on them, not even Maze – certainly not Maze. A shudder ran through his back, his wings at the thought.

“Lucifer?” Her hands had stopped moving. “Did I hurt you? Tickle you?”

“No. But maybe – we should, you know.” He gestured at the state of the bed, and them in it.

“Yeah, you’re right. Trix would be scarred for life if she saw us.” She gave him a last pat. “Don’t let her see them, she’d drive you crazy asking for a ride.”

“I don’t plan on letting anyone see them. Usually it doesn’t end well, at least for humans.” He peered into her eyes. “Not you, though. As usual. You’re probably just too… I don’t know. You.” He guessed some would say she was too good of heart to go mad from a glimpse of the divine, but he wasn’t that far gone yet. Father Frank would probably just shrug and laugh, and that was a much better answer. Maybe her daughter would be the same, maybe not. Why risk it?

He kissed her and she smiled and he marvelled yet again at her acceptance and affection, and then they stripped the bed and put the sheets in bin bags, tiptoed and muffled their giggles in the bathroom as they tried to fit two adults and a pair of giant wings inside her tiny tub, and when the water ran clear they went outside to watch the early morning over the sea, her in a light dress and him in underwear, his wings spread out to let the light breeze dry them.

“You never did tell me how the case ended,” he said.

“Ah, well.” She handed him a mug of coffee before sitting between his thighs. “It was all a rotten scheme, frankly. Stavros’s youngest was involved in some seriously horrible stuff, and wanted to get back in his father’s good graces by forcing Caballero Junior to sell some shares.”

“Sam?”

“No, Miguel. They thought he wasn’t as tough as his father, that he’d be afraid he’d be next on the list. Then they got the kid to show they meant business. The brothers reconciled, apparently. Kid’s fine, by the way.”

He hummed. “And how did you find me?”

“One of your dancers called us. She thought you were going to do something stupid, and she’s apparently afraid of Maze, so she called the precinct and asked for me.” She looked up to glare at him. “You _were_ doing something stupid. You should have known better, Lucifer.”

“I know, but… I didn’t want you anywhere near these people.”

“I’m a cop. It’s my job. I can take care of myself, Lucifer.”

“I know, I just… didn’t think it through.”

“No, you really didn’t.” He couldn’t really tell her he’d wanted to impress her, could he? “Anyway, we arrived just before the firemen, so no one questioned our being there. You’re not in any of the reports. Your stupidity will remain a secret.” She had the gall – well, also the right, to smirk at him. “It was brave and idiotic of you. Don’t ever do it again.”

Coffee forgotten on the step, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and rested his chin on her head. “I… I won’t.”

“You just can’t say ‘sorry’, can you?”

He grinned in her hair. “Nope. But…”

“Yes?”

“I am.”

“Good.” She leaned back against his chest and let her temple rest against his neck with a sigh. “You’re so warm. S’nice.” He felt his lips curl up, and thought Maze would mock him endlessly if she could see them right now. “Also, you do have curly hair.”

“What?” He jerked a hand to his head and remembered he hadn’t styled his hair after their shower. He must look like a _sheep_ – the horror.

“I like it. It’s cute. Suits you.”

“It’s not and it doesn’t.”

“Is and does. You look… softer.” Softer, huh. “Lucifer…”

“Hm?”

“You know you don’t have to play big bad devil with me.”

“I _am_ the devil.”

“Among other things.” What things? A sort-of-maybe-fallen angel, a night-club owner, a (wo)manizer? A drug addict, a shady character involved with even shadier people, a not-quite-sane partner? What? “I like those things. I like you. It’s… strange, and a bit scary, and I’m not sure I understand it all; but no more and no less than any relationship.”

“You’re channelling Dr Linda.” A relationship? Was he that far gone? Yes. Yes he was. Damn. Losing his edge there. And loving every minute if it.

“Yeah, I guess.” She laughed. “But, you know. Carpe diem. I found out I missed you too much when you were away. Even your Lucifer-ness.” She entwined her fingers with his, there against her heart. “It’ll last however long it’ll last.”

“Very long, Detective. Very long.” He shook his wings a little, a few droplets raining on them. “I don’t understand you, but I plan to keep on trying.”

“And when you’ve sussed me out?”

“Will I ever?”

“And when I grow old and die?”

“I’ll fly up there and kidnap you.” He opened his arm when she yelped – he’d squeezed too hard. “Sorry.” She grinned up at him and turned around to face him.

“You’re sorry, huh.”

“I – ”

And she kissed him, and they heard a high-pitched “Wings! Awesome!” before Trixie jumped on them, and they ended up in a pile; and even though the stairs were digging into his kidneys and the child was _playing with his wings_ and he had a human woman – _his_ human woman – sprawled over him and snickering at her daughter’s antics and his own over-acted wounded dignity routine, even though the future was yet unwritten, he felt – joy.

They’d write their own future themselves anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Potential trigger warnings:  
> child endangerment (it ends well)  
> animal and probable human torture and death (off-screen, but suggested)


End file.
